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Korach 5778: Never Finished

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“Korach the son of Izhar, the son of Kehath, the son of Levi took [himself to one side] along with Dathan and Abiram, the sons of Eliab, and On the son of Peleth, descendants of Reuben. They confronted Moses together with two hundred and fifty men from the children of Israel, chieftains of the congregation, representatives of the assembly, men of repute. They assembled against Moses and Aaron, and said to them, ’You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst. So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s assembly?’” (Bamidbar 16:1-3)

It was a no holds barred rebellion. Korach accused Moshe of nepotism, power grabbing and self-promotion. Moshe tried as hard as he could to make peace and achieve reconciliation, but it was not to be. Korach’s core argument was encapsulated in one phrase, “Ki kol ha’eyda kulam kedoshim (the entire assembly is holy).” Korach was saying to Moshe, we are all equals. You are no holier than the rest of us and as such have no right to take and assign leadership positions to whomever you chose; we are all on equal footing.

But how could Korach say such a thing? Moshe regularly communicated with God, Moshe spent forty days and nights on Mount Sinai with no food or drink. Aharon the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) could enter the Holy of Holies, offer sacrifices and reside within the Mishkan. How could Korach say there was no difference between these great men and the rest of the populace?  

The great Chassidic master, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov offers an incredible insight. The Talmud explains that when the Jewish nation experienced Sinaitic revelation and actively experienced God, “paska zuhamasan (the impurity ceased).” The moment that Adam and Chava ate from the forbidden fruit, they ingested spiritual impurity. That impurity remained embedded within our nation until we received the Torah. When we made the incredible declaration of “Naaseh V’nishma (we will do and we will listen),” when we heard the voice of God give us the first commandments, the impurity of the first sin was purged and we regained our complete, innate holiness. Korach therefore felt that we were all equal. Each of us has been restored to the state of Adam and Chava before the sin. We are a nation of holy and righteous people. Moshe, was greater before the revelation, but now, Korach felt, we were all equals.

What was Korach’s mistake? Just because we achieved a certain level of holiness doesn’t mean we automatically retain it. The retention of holiness is achieved only through consistent and ongoing active dynamic growth coupled with vigilance against sin and harmful forces. Korach felt that he “made it.” He crossed the spiritual finish line and there was nothing else he needed to do. Once one becomes a card-carrying member of the holiness club, he can sit back, relax and enjoy the show. But Korach was wrong. Even after the Jewish people achieved this saintly level, we had to actively work to maintain it. Unfortunately, we didn’t.  Immediately after we received the Torah, we built the Golden Calf. Shortly thereafter, we complained about the manna from heaven. Just a bit later, we experienced the debacle of the spies. We lost our footing. We lost our spiritual standing. But Moshe didn’t. Moshe retained his holiness, built upon it and continued forward in a trajectory of growth.

We all have moments of incredible accomplishment. We experience moments of spiritual elation and holiness. There are times when we accomplish great things, cross our finish lines and engage of acts of spiritual heroism (big and small). But in the world of spirituality, there is never a point when one can say, “I have arrived and I am now finished.” We take the time to recognize and celebrate our accomplishments but immediately consider how to move forward. If we don’t build on the spiritual accomplishments of our past and present, we will lose the spiritual ground we have covered. If we don’t actively work to maintain, retain and increase our individual holiness, it will unfortunately dissipate.

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Behaaloscha 5778: Kindling New Perspective

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The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to Aaron and say to him: “When you light the lamps, the seven lamps shall cast their light toward the face of the menorah (Vayikra 8:1-2)”

Aharon was distressed. He felt left out and marginalized. The Tribal Princes brought beautiful and significant offerings to mark the dedication of the Mizbeyach (altar). Animals, gold, silver; incredible gifts of enormous value were brought to initiate this sacred space. But Aharon was not included. Neither he nor his tribe were part of this grand dedication. But God tells Aharon, “Do not despair; your lot is greater than theirs for I have given you (and your descendants) the mitzvah to kindle the Menorah.” (Rashi 8:2) God is trying to soothe Aharon’s sadness – but why the Menorah? How did this responsibility mend his broken heart? After all, Aharon as High Priest, had many unique responsibilities. He brought the incense (kitores), he sacrificed the communal offerings and he was the only man allowed into the Holy of Holies (on Yom Kippur). What was the unique message and meaning of the Menorah that lifted Aharon’s spirits?

The Midrash (Midrash Rabbah 15:8) provides a beautiful insight:

“There was a great king who often travelled to the small towns of his kingdom to meet his subjects. One of these journeys brought him to the town of his closet childhood friend. The king sent a message to his friend asking if he could join him in his home for a meal. The friend, a common farmer was excited for the great honor of hosting the king and began the frenetic preparations. The much-anticipated day arrived and the simple farmer had set the table with his finest dishes, and flatware. There were main dishes, side dishes and delicious deserts. The farmer looked at the table and was eager to greet the king. The trumpets sounded and the royal coach arrived. As the door of the carriage opened, the trumpets blasted again and a small army of attendants and servants entered the home of the farmer. The servants were dressed in the finest clothing and were carrying golden torches to light the way for their beloved king. Upon seeing all the pomp and wealth the farmer became embarrassed of his meager possessions. The table that a few minutes earlier had looked so beautiful and regal now looked so simple and quaint. The farmer began to feel inadequate and unprepared. ‘How can I serve the king on my simple dishes? How can I feed him my “commoner” food?’ The farmer began to clear the table, quickly putting away the dishes before the king entered the home. Just as he finished the king entered. ‘Didn’t you remember I was to join you for a meal?’ the king asked as he looked at the empty table. ‘Of course, your majesty, but as I saw the great display of wealth I thought it would be more fitting if we would dine on your dishes and have your cooks prepare the meal.’ ‘My dear friend,’ the king remarked, ‘I am here because I want to dine with you, in your home, at your table with your food. I knew that whatever you would prepare would be with love and attention. I felt closer to you even before my arrival because I know who much effort you must be putting in to prepare for our short time together. We will not use my dishes, nor will my cooks prepare my favorite dishes. Tonight, I choose to dine with you, eat your food and reside in your home.’

And so, it was with God. God created the luminaries, He forged the sun, the moon and stars and yet, He asked Aharon (and his descendants) to prepare the light, to kindle the Menorah and to illuminate His home.”

The message is powerful. Rachmana Liba Ba’Ey, God desires heart. Aharon, felt left out because he didn’t get to participate in the grand dedication. God explains: “I don’t need grandeur, just sincerity and consistency. Aharon, when you light the Menorah each day, I know that you will do it with a heart filled with love and dedication. I know you will kindle each lamp with the fire of sincerity and purity. I don’t need your light, I want your light. I have the sun, the moon and the stars, but when you kindle those little flames they illuminate the entire celestial sphere. Your gift of light is the most precious gift I can receive.”

The gifts of the tribal princes were beautiful and precious, but they are not representative of what God wants and expects of us on a daily basis. God wants us to kindle our Menorah. Do something which produces light in the world, even if it is just a small little flame. God doesn’t demand spiritually heroic activity from us, He just asks for activity. But there is something else. Make sure to produce light each and every day. The Menorah was kindled every single day. This is the message of consistency. The tribal princes brought their offerings once; God wants us to create consistent light.

The Midrashic king only visited his childhood friend once. Our King looks to be with us each and every day. The words which comforted Aharon can provide us with the strength to move forward in life. We each have moments when we are like the Tribal Princes. Moments, when we do spiritually dramatic things, moments of sacrifice and selflessness and spiritual heroism. But these are just moments. More important is to be like Aharon, kindle our Menorah of personal growth every day. We don’t have to create a raging fire of accomplishment, just a small spark of goodness and holiness. We don’t have to illuminate the entire world, just our own individual souls. We don’t have to be perfect, but we must ascend and kindle each and every day.

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Naso 5778: Death and Determination

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It is in this week’s Parsha that we are introduced to an important personality – the Nazir. He is a man who takes a vow to abstain from drinking wine, cutting his hair and coming in contact with the dead in order to attain a higher level of life sanctity. The Nazir is a person who has lost his way, become too entrenched in the material world and is looking to hit the reset button. His behavior is extreme, but it is designed to allow him to ultimately find the middle path of synergistic partnership between body and soul.  

Yet, sometimes the best laid plans go awry.

“If someone in his presence dies unexpectedly or suddenly, and causes the Nazirite head to become defiled, he shall shave off [the hair of] his head on the day of his purification; on the seventh day, he shall shave it off. And on the eighth day, he shall bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons to the Kohen, at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting. The Kohen shall prepare one for a sin offering and one for a burnt offering and atone on his behalf for sinning by coming into contact with the dead, and he shall sanctify his head on that day. He shall consecrate to the Lord the period of his abstinence and bring a lamb in its first year as a guilt offering; the previous days shall be canceled because his naziriteship has been defiled.” (Bamidbar 6:9-12)

The Nazir tries his best, but an unavoidable circumstance puts a corpse in his proximity. The days observed fall by the wayside and the Nazir must restart the fulfillment of his vow. The Beis Yisroel (Rabbi Yisroel Alter of Gur, 1895-1977) explains that the Torah is conveying to us a deeper message. The Nazir represents a person looking for more out of life. He realizes that he is not living the life he should be living, he is not becoming the person he is capable of being. So, he decides to make a dramatic life change. At times, we must bring life to a grinding halt in an effort to recalibrate and plot a new course for the future.

The Nazir found the strength and adopted a new approach (for a limited amount of time). But then he failed. He finds himself in proximity to a corpse and everything ends; he must start all over again. Here he was trying to better himself and his vow ends in failure. He is tamei (impure) and back to square one. But it is here, in these details that God teaches us how to deal with failure. “V’kidash es rosho ba’yom ha’hu (and he shall sanctify his head on that day).”On the day he finishes his purification process, he gets back up and starts all over again. There is no time for lamenting, there is only time to dust off and start again. As King Solomon wrote in Proverbs (24:16), “For a righteous man can fall seven times and rise, but the wicked shall stumble upon evil.” Everyone stumbles and falls, the righteous get back up, the wicked stay down.

There is one more piece. The above-mentioned section ends, “… the previous days shall fall away (be cancelled).” In order to have a meaningful second chance and new beginning, one must let go of the feelings of pain and failure of the past. In the aftermath of failure, we often think to ourselves, “I wasted so much time and resources on this initiative, idea, mission which never materialized.” A person could feel demoralized in the wake of failure and that prolonged feeling could prevent a person from trying again and believing that things can be different in the future. But, we must let go in order to move on.

The message of the Nazir is a message for us all. We all fail and we all fall; this is an inevitable reality of the human condition. What must be our response to life’s failures? Get back up and try again. Clean our wounds, let go of the past and make another go at it. We may not identify with the restrictions of the Nazir, rather his quest for holiness and elevation should inspire us all.

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Bamidbar 5778: Demolition and Determination

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“The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Only the tribe of Levi you shall not number, and you shall not reckon their sum among the children of Israel. But you shall appoint the Levites over the Tabernacle of the Testimony, over all its vessels and over all that belong to it; they shall carry the Tabernacle and they shall minister to it, and they shall encamp around the Tabernacle. When the Tabernacle is set to travel, the Levites shall dismantle it; and when the Tabernacle camps, the Levites shall erect it; any outsider [non- Levite] who approaches shall be put to death.” (Bamidbar 1:48-51)

Every tribe, every Jew, every man, woman and child is important in the eyes of God. We each have a unique mission and destiny. We each have different roles and responsibilities. The Tribe of Levi was chosen by God to serve in the Mishkan (and later in the Beis Mikdash) and dedicate their lives to the service of God and the Jewish people. During the 40-year sojourn in the desert, the Tribe of Levi had an additional role: to carry the Mishkan from location to location. The Baal Shem Tov comments that when the Torah describes the role of the Leviim it says, “u’vinsoa ha’mishkan yoridu oso, when you travel, they shall dismantle it.” The primary role of Levi was to show the people how to take down and deconstruct. Throughout life we spend time and energy building a life edifice and framework. Then one day we look at it and realize that it is not as it should be. We are not living the way we need to be living, we are not the kind of person we know we can and should be. But we have invested so much time and resources into “building” this life. We are too sacred and unsure to knock it down and start again. Sometimes, “when the Tabernacle is set to travel,” when we know we need to make changes and start living the life we should be living, “the Levites shall dismantle it,” we must find the courage to knock down what we have built and start again.  

King Solomon writes: “There is a time for all things …. A time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot that which is planted.” (Koheles 3:2) The wise King Solomon doesn’t say, “there is a time to plant and a time to harvest.” Instead he tells us that there is a time to “uproot.” There are times in life when we must uproot what we have planted because it is no longer the right fit. It may have seemed appropriate when we began the endeavor, but we change, the world changes and sometimes the very things which once were acceptable and good, must be deconstructed and uprooted.

It is then after we dismantle, like the tribe of Levi, we must rebuild. Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook zt’l wrote:

יש עבודת ה’ מיוחדת, לקחת דברים מפורקים ולבנות אותם. כל דבר מפורק בהתחלה היה שלם. נעים לראות דבר שלם, אבל יש עבודה מיוחדת לקחת את המפורק ולהחזירו לשלמותו.

“There is a special form of Avodas Hashem (service of God), to take things which are in pieces and make them whole.  Everything which is broken was initially whole. It is beautiful to see something which is complete and whole, but there is a unique privilege to in taking that which is in pieces and returning it to completion.”

We are just a few days away from the Yom Tov of Shavuos, the day on which we celebrate the great miracle of Sinaitic revelation. But we are not merely observing a historical event. Shavuos offers us the opportunity to reaccept and reaffirm our commitment to our Torah, the opportunity to start again. If we are broken, Shavuos gives us the strength to rebuild. If we are blemished, Shavuos gives us the chance the heal. If we need to make changes, Shavuos gives us the strength to start changing. But starting again, healing and changing are exceptionally difficult because often they require us to knock down certain life structures. At times, the life or personality we have built doesn’t provide the proper framework for who we really want to be. There are things in our lives that we must knock down, emotional or personalistic structures we must raze because they are getting in the way of growth.  Let us find the strength of Levi. To move our Mishkan to the next location often requires some deconstruction and demolition. Let us beready to deconstruct the things which are holding us back and we can look forward to great wave of joy we will experience when we put the pieces back together.

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Behar-Bechukosai 5778: Always Profitable

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“If you follow My statutes and observe My commandments and perform them, I will give your rains in their time, the Land will yield its produce, and the tree of the field will give forth its fruit. Your threshing will last until the vintage, and the vintage will last until the sowing; you will eat your food to satiety, and you will live in security in your land.” (Vayikra 26:3-5)

It seems to be a straightforward system; follow the commandments and statutes of God, and God will reward you with all types of material blessings. Conversely, if we don’t follow the laws and commandments, God will punish us. These verses raise many theological and ideological questions. Is this how the world really works? Don’t we find that at times the righteous suffer and the wicked prosper? We often see people who seem to do all God wants and expects of them, yet, they have exceptionally difficult lives. This is the age-old question, deliberated by the sages throughout the generations. Yet, despite all the insights and explanations we have no real understanding other than to accept our inability to comprehend the ways of God.   

But I would like to draw your attention to a different issue. The Torah seems to indicate that reward can (and perhaps, should) be part of our motivation for following the laws and commandments. However, we find a seemingly contradictory statement in Pirkei Avos (Ethics of the Fathers):

“Antignos of Socho received the tradition from Shimon the Righteous. He would say: Do not be as slaves, who serve their master for the sake of reward. Rather, be as slaves who serve their master not for the sake of reward. And the fear of Heaven should be upon you.” (1:3)

The great sage, Antignos teaches us that one should not serve God for the sake of receiving reward! How do we reconcile this teaching with the verses in the beginning of this week’s Parsha?  

In discussing the obligation to honor one’s parents, the Talmud (Kiddushin 31a) brings the story of an idolater named Dama ben Nisina. The Talmud relates that Dama was exceptionally wealthy and possessed precious stones that were needed for the breastplate (choshen) of the Kohen Gadol (High Priest). A rabbinic delegation approached Dama and made a generous offer for the precious stones. Dama responded that he could not sell them the stones as the key to the safe in which the stones were kept was under his father’s pillow, and his father was sleeping. Dama would not wake his father even for a small fortune. This, explains the Talmud, is the paradigmatic example of honoring one’s parents. But the story is not over. A year later, a red heifer (Parah Aduma) was born in Dama’s herd. The rabbis approached Dama, eager to purchase this rare animal. Dama responded, “I know that I can ask for all the money in the world and you (rabbis) would give it to me. But I will only ask for the money I lost for honoring my father.”

The commentaries point out Dama’s intriguing statement: “I will only ask for the money I lost for honoring my father.” This word choice provides us incredible insight into Dama’s personality. It is true he didn’t wake his father. But when the rabbis left, Dama felt like he had lost an incredible opportunity. When blessed with the red heifer he felt he was given the opportunity to be made whole. Dama was indeed a great man who clearly revered and honored his father. But he failed to comprehend the power of a good deed. He didn’t lose anything. Although he couldn’t sell the precious jewels, he earned a most incredible spiritual windfall.

This is the meaning of Antignos’ statement. When a servant works a full day, if the master claims he can’t pay, the servant feels both wronged (because of the non-payment) and that he wasted his time. He thinks, “I would have never worked or performed these tasks had I known that what I set out to receive would not end up materializing.” When it comes to the service of God we must remain far from this mindset. Is there reward for our mitzvos, good deeds and positive acts? Unequivocally, yes. This is clear from the opening verses of our Parsha. There is reward in this world and there is reward in the World to Come. There is no good deed that goes unnoticed or unrewarded. How that reward is delivered is a bit more complex. God has a system and it often defies our comprehension. Sometimes God takes reward generated by our actions and allocates it to our children, as they may need it more than us. Sometimes, we are the beneficiaries of certain blessings generated by the actions of those who came before us. There is beautiful reward for all we do. The allocation and distribution is understood only by God. We must understand that when it comes to the service of God, even if we don’t get what we wanted or had hoped for, our efforts are never in vein. Every mitzvah, every act of kindness has the benefit of creating a relationship with God. In fact, the Torah states: “And I will place My dwelling in your midst, and My Spirit will not reject you; I will walk among you and be your God, and you will be My people.” (Vayikra 26:11-12) After all the discussion of material blessing, the Torah explains that the most important result we can realize from our service of God is a relationship with God. Even if the wheat, barley, and grapes don’t blossom as we had hoped. Even if the cattle, the sheep and livestock aren’t as plentiful as we had imagined, our service, our actions, our mitzvos are never in vein. As a result of all we have done, “I will walk in your midst and I will enjoy a relationship with you.”

We live in a result driven society. If we can’t quantify the results, it must mean we failed. While this may be true in certain areas of life, it is not true when it comes to spirituality. There are times when we pray, learn, perform acts of kindness and give tzedaka because we need and want something from God. There are many times when we see the beautiful results of our actions and there are many times when we simply don’t get what we want.  Whether we actively see the beracha (blessing) or not, one thing is clear. Every spiritual act is purposeful and meaningful. Every spiritual act creates closeness and holiness. Every time we serve God, we have the opportunity bring Him close to us and have the privilege to be just a bit closer to Him.

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Emor/Lag Ba’omer 5778: New Beginnings

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“And you shall count for yourselves, from the morrow of the rest day from the day you bring the omer as a wave offering seven weeks; they shall be complete. You shall count until the day after the seventh week, [namely,] the fiftieth day, [on which] you shall bring a new meal offering to the Lord.” (Vayikra 23:15-16)

God commands us to count the days from Pesach until Shavuos. Why the need to count? The commentaries provide many layers of insight. Yet, on the most basic level, God was teaching us an important lesson; the exodus was not the end; it was a means towards establishing a life of holiness and meaning. We left Egypt to accept the Torah at Mount Sinai. The Torah, with its plethora of commandments and life-lessons, provides us the ability to find the holiness within ourselves and our world. As such, God commanded us to count these days to link the events of Pesach and Shavuos, in order to establish a connection between our freedom and Sinaitic revelation. God tells us, “I took you out of Egypt so you could receive the Torah. I gave you the Torah so you can change yourselves and the world.”

This past Wednesday night and Thursday we celebrated the 33rd day of the Omer, a day we simply refer to as Lag Ba’omer. The Shulchan Aruch, in reference to this day says, “U’marbim bo k’tzas simcha, we enhance the day with a bit more joy.” Why is this day unique? And if it is indeed special why only “k’tzas simcha, a bit more joy”?

The Talmud (Yevamos 62b) tells us that Rabbi Akiva had 12,000 pairs of students and they all died, “al shelo nahagu kavod zeh la’zeh, for they did not give proper honor one to the other.” The Talmud goes on to explain that these deaths occurred between Pesach and Shavuos and according to many, the deaths ceased on the 33rd day of the Omer. But the question is obvious: why celebrate the cessation of the plague?  We celebrate events and occurrences which are truly joyous because of their positive, dynamic momentum. The plague stopped because all the students had died, there was no one left. It is understandable that we can stop our mourning practices on Lag Ba’omer, but to celebrate (even just a little bit) seems out of place.

The Pri Chadash (Rav Chizkiya Silva, 1659-1698) explains this dynamic by examining the end of the previously quoted passage:
“… the (Torah) world was desolate (as a result of the death of the 24,000 students) until Rabbi Akiva went to the rabbis of the south (of Israel) and began to teach them.  Who were they?  Rabbi Meir, Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Yossi, Rabbi Shimon, Rabbi Elazar ben Shamuah.  These new students re-established the world of Torah in this turbulent time.” (Yevamos 62b)

When did Rabbi Akiva go and find these new students? Right after he attended the funeral of the final student who had passed away. My dear friends, let’s take a moment to reflect on these powerful words. In the span of just a few weeks Rabbi Akiva had to bury 24,000 students. But the tragedy didn’t end there. He cared for their widows and orphans; he was tasked with the overwhelming responsibility helping tens of thousands to rebuild their lives. And what of his personal loss? Rabbi Akiva devoted his life to building his students and his yeshiva. His entire life’s work was intertwined with the lives of his students and now it was all gone. No students, no yeshiva, just immeasurable amounts of pain and heartbreak. Rabbi Akiva would have been within his right to say, “I’m done. I tried, I devoted my life to my people and to my God, but alas my efforts were not meant to endure. I am an old man; someone else will need to find the strength and courage to rebuild. I did my share.” And who would have faulted Rabbi Akiva had he chosen to “retire,” learn in his local Beis Midrash, spend time with his family and leave the work for others. But he didn’t. Rather, immediately following the last funeral, he dried his tears, dusted himself off, said goodbye to his family and began the journey to the south of Israel to find new students and begin the process of rebuilding. And when did all of this happen?  On Lag Ba’omer. This day, Lag Ba’omer, is not simply another day in the sefirah count. This day is a testament to the strength of the human spirit. It is this day that reminds us we can all be Rabbi Akiva. It is on Lag Ba’omer that we understand that although we may be faced with incredible challenges, we need not yield to or buckle beneath them. Sometimes, we need to dry our tears, pick ourselves up and figure out how to keep moving forward.

This is the meaning of the Shulchan Aruch’s statement, “U’marbim bo k’tzas simcha, we enhance the day with a bit more joy.” Lag Ba’omer does not possess the almost childish joy of Purim, nor does it possess the reverential happiness of our Yomim Tovim. Lag Ba’omer is the day on which we confront our challenges and recognize that for many of us life is filled with much adversity and difficulty. Yet it is on this sacred day that we pledge to be like our ancestor Rabbi Akiva and find a way to regroup and rebuild. This is the “little bit of simcha” of Lag Ba’omer.  Perhaps, our responsibility is to take this simcha with us into the remaining days of Sefira. We celebrated our freedom on Pesach. Pesach was a new beginning, an opportunity to start fresh and begin to actualize our goals and dreams. Truthfully, over the last few weeks, we may have fallen short.  The taste of Matzah is long gone and perhaps, the inspiration from the beautiful Yom Tov has begun to fade.  IWe have gone back to “business as usual.”  Lag Ba’omer, reminds us that we can always start again. The verse in this week’s Parsha, U’sfartem Lachem, reminds us that we can make each and every day count and we can begin anew whenever we desire. May the courage of Rabbi Akiva and the holy words of Parshas Emor inspire us to do more, be more and when necessary, start again.

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Acharei Mos/Kedoshim 5778: Complete Control

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“And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Speak to the entire congregation of the children of Israel, and say to them, you shall be holy, for I, the Lord, your God, am holy.’” (Vayikra 19:1-3)

It seems like a simple directive, “Kedoshim Tihiyu, you shall be holy.” So simple, yet so profound and complex.  What does it mean to be holy? How do we actualize this holiness?

The commentaries advance many different ideas and insights as to the meaning and actualization of the holiness concept. Rashi explains, “Separate yourself from immorality and sin.” Core holiness is defined by one’s ability to fight against the urges and desires which cast us in the abyss of immorality. God can tolerate our shortcomings and mistakes but we must strive to be a moral nation. Without morality (specifically sexual morality) we are no different than animals. Holiness is the ability to resist temptation and remain on the proper path of life.

Ramban (Nachmanidies) explains that holiness means moderation. Learn to limit yourself even with those things which are permitted to you. Just because something is permitted doesn’t mean it is good or appropriate. Everything we do in life, every decision we make has a lasting impact and creates a ripple effect. When assessing a particular course of action, it is not enough to ask, “is this forbidden or permitted?” Sometimes, even if the action is permitted, it can still create negative repercussions going forward. The true indication of holiness is the ability to exercise restraint even in those areas in which one can technically overindulge.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch brings these two ideas together. He writes:

“Kedusha (holiness) is the product of the completest mastery by the god-like free-willed human being over all his forces and natural tendencies, with the allurements and inclinations associated with them, and placing them at the disposal of God’s Will. This mastery over one’s self, the highest possible art which human beings can practice, does not consist of neglecting, curtailing, killing or doing away with any of one’s powers or natural tendencies … Virtuosity in this, the highest human art, is only attained, as in other art, by practice, by constant exercise in using one’s moral free will in mastering existing tendencies … That is the work that everybody is called on to, each one according to his own individual peculiarities, the work that is done quietly, silently, known to no one but himself, on his own inner self …”

Holiness is self-mastery. Holiness is when you realize that you control how you act. Holiness is when you understand that you have control over the life you lead and the person you are. Holiness is the state of being, achieved when you realize that “the buck stops with you.” When a person exhibits “Rashi-like” strength and abstains from immoral and negative behaviors, and when a person exhibits “Ramban-like” strength and at times chooses to abstain from certain behaviors, not because they are prohibited but because they are not conducive to his ongoing growth – this person has become holy. We can control ourselves. Once we acknowledge that we each possess self-control, we become the master of our decisions and destinies. This is kedusha; this is true holiness.

We often think of holiness as the state of being one reaches because of dynamic, positive spiritual activity. While this is certainly true, there is an important first step: self-mastery. Holiness is achieved only when one becomes the master of his self. Too often, we are enslaved by our desires, passions and proclivities. We feel we lack control over the direction and quality of our lives. We say to ourselves and others, “this is who I am!” The truth is, there is no such statement as “this is who I am” only, “this is who I choose to be.” We often can’t choose the influences which try to propel us in different directions, but we make the final decision if we will act on them. The path to holiness is often long and challenging but it all begins with a recognition that we each possess the control and mastery of who we become.

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Tazriah/Metzorah 5778: The Lesson of Forgiveness

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“God spoke to Moshe and Aharon saying, ‘If a man has on the skin of his body a white blotch or a bright spot …. The Priest shall pronounce him ritually impure, for this discoloration is Tzaraas.’”  (Vayikra 13:1-6)

It was a gift. Not the type of gift that makes you feel loved and appreciated; but the kind of gift that opens your eyes and heart to the realities of life. This was the gift of Tzaraas- loosely translated as leprosy. Tzaraas was a physical manifestation of a spiritual malady. The Talmud explains that if one spoke Lashon Hara– slander against another- they would be stricken with a strange skin disease. One would have to appear before the kohen– priest- to have the discoloration or blotch examined. If the spot met certain criteria, the kohen would declare the individual tamei- ritually impure. The afflicted individual would then be exiled and sent out from the community. His punishment was middah k’neged middah– reciprocal in nature. He sought to isolate another through negative and slanderous speech and therefore, we punish him in kind by isolating him from the community. Yet, despite the difficulties this punishment brought upon the sinner, it was a gift. It was through this sickness that the sinner was made aware of his negative and deleterious behavior. It was through Tzaraas that the slanderer was given an opportunity to fix himself and right his wrongs. During the days of isolation the sinner was able to reflect on his behavior and begin to take the necessary substantive, rehabilitative steps.

The Torah then proceeds to discuss the purification process. “This shall be the law of the person afflicted with tzaraas, on the day of his cleansing: He shall be brought to the kohen.” (Vayikra 14:2) Yet, the very next verse reads, “The kohen shall go outside the camp, and the kohen shall look, and behold, the lesion of tzaraas has healed in the afflicted person.” (Vayikra 14:3) At first glance it appears the verses are contradicting one another. Is the Metzorah-person afflicted with Tzaraas- brought to the Kohen? Or is the Kohen brought to the Metzorah?

The answer is, both. As a result of his behavior the Metzorah was rejected by the community. The verse states, “All the days the lesion is upon him, he shall remain unclean. He is unclean; he shall dwell isolated; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.” (Vayikra 13:46) The Talmud explains that even others who were themselves ritually impure had to avoid contact with the Metzorah. He was away from his family, distanced from his community, cut-off from his people. All this was to impress upon him the severity of his action. “You created a distance between one man and his fellow, therefore, you must sit alone outside the camp.” (Arachin 16b) The Metzorah was taught a harsh, yet profound lesson: there is no room within the camp and community for those who sow the seeds of hatred and animosity within our ranks. But along with this lesson came a fear – a fear that this feeling of rejection would forever isolate the Metzorah and make him think that he could never reintegrate. In fact, the Midrash comments, “And he shall be brought to the Kohen; on the day that he becomes pure he should not delay … even if we must bring him against his will.” Could we imagine a scenario in which the Metzorah was reticent to return for his purification process? Would he not want to be reunited with his family? Would he not yearn to resume his normal life? Yet, the Torah tells us that this concern does in fact exist. He may not want to come back. Why? Because the Metzorah may say, “Look what I have done to myself. Look how I have sullied my soul and reputation. I have hurt others and how will they every forgive me? I have fractured relationships, caused heart-break. I don’t think I can ever go back.” 

The Torah tells us: on the day he is to be purified he should come to the Kohen on his own. He has paid the price for his negative behavior, he has repented, learned his lesson and will hopefully be more vigilant in his inter-personal conduct. But God tells the Kohen, “If you see he is not showing up, go get him. Run to him, embrace him, bring him back, tell him we, the community, love, care and forgive him. Make him feel wanted. Remind him that we do get second chances.”

There are times when people wrong and hurt us. Often, because of the emotional pain endured, we want nothing to do with the person who hurt us. Truth be told, after a difficult or hurtful interaction, a little distance (sometimes for a long time) is what is needed to heal the wounds and rebuild the self. But we must learn from the Metzorah the need to give second (third, fourth …) chances. We must remember that if the person who harmed us is truly penitent, understands what he has done and has demonstrated a desire to do things differently going forward, we must leave our hearts and doors open to reconciliation. People aren’t perfect and we must allow those around us to find their interpersonal redemption in the aftermath of relationship failure. But there is another lesson as well. We must learn to forgive ourselves. We all make mistakes. There are some who carry the pain of their mistakes with them every moment of every day. There are people who cannot let go of the pain of personal failure.  The laws of Tzaraas teach us that we must forgive the other; but we must also learn to forgive ourselves.

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Shmini 5778: Carrying the Nation

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– Dedicated in loving memory of Sholom Elazar z’l ben Rav Elimelech Bentzion

And Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu, each took his pan, put fire in them, and placed incense upon it, and they brought before the Lord foreign fire, which He had not commanded them. And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord. Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what the Lord spoke, [when He said], ‘I will be sanctified through those near to Me, and before all the people I will be glorified.’ And Aaron was silent (Vayikra 10:1-3).”

It was to be a day of rejuvenation and reconciliation.  The dedication of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) symbolized the return of the Divine Presence to the camp of the Jewish nation (after the separation caused by the sin of the Golden Calf).  But alas, it was not to be.  The death of Aharon’s two sons transformed this day of joy into a day of pain, grief and loss.  But was their sin?  What was the nature of their “foreign fire?”

The commentaries provide many different interpretations and insights.  The Talmud (Eruvin 63a) explains that Nadav and Avihu decided on matters of Jewish law in the presence of their teachers, Moshe and Aharon.  This fundamental lack of respect and breakdown of authority led to their deaths.  Others explain they were inebriated when serving in the Mishkan.  The Midrash writes that Nadav and Avihu ventured into the Kodesh HaKodashim, the Holy of Holies and were punished as a result.  Other rabbinic commentaries explain that they took fire from outside the confines of the Temple to offer the incense instead of taking from the Divine fire that descended from the Heavens.

Perhaps, there is another insight into their sin which can be gleaned from the Haggadah.  In the beginning of the Seder we recite Ha Lachma Anya, this is the bread of affliction.

This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry, come and eat. Let all who are needy, come and celebrate Passover (partake of the Paschal lamb). This year we are here – next year, may we be in the Land of Israel. This year we are slaves – next year, may we be free.

Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau (former Chief Rabbi of the State of Israel, current Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv) provides a beautiful insight into this paragraph by sharing a moving story.  During his tenure as Chief Rabbi, Rabbi Lau was conducting a communal Seder on an air force base.  There were over 1,000 people in attendance from all walks of life.  Rabbi Lau began the Seder with reading and translating Ha Lachma Anya.  As he concluded, a young pilot stood up and said, “Rabbi, I feel these words, this text – has lost its meaning.  Why should we say this year we are here, next year may we be in the Land of Israel?  I was born here, I am a sabra.  Why would I say, this year we are slaves, next year may we be free?  I was born free and I have always been free? 

Rabbi Lau provided a dramatic and beautiful answer:  “In my youth I had the privilege to study under many great teachers. Great men like, Rav Elazar Man Shach, Rabbi Eliyahu Lopian, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach and I was privileged to spend Yom Kippur with each of them.  I stood next to these great men as they recited the Al Cheyts (list of sins for which we repent on Yom Kippur); I heard their muffled cries and saw the tears stream down their face. I often wondered – did these great rabbis commit these heinous acts which they were confessing?  It couldn’t be.  Even “regular” people don’t commit half of the sins outlined in the list.  Why would these great rabbis confess sins they had not committed?  Truthfully, the Baal Shem Tov also beat his chest while confessing this list, the Vilna Gaon cried out when enumerating these sins.  Surely, these giants of our past had not committed these transgressions!  And then it dawned on me.  These great rabbis were not confessing their sins – they were confessing and seeking forgiveness for sins of the nation.  These great men realized that although they had not committed these aggrieved acts – there were Jews who did.  Perhaps, those Jews would not or could not confess and repent.  These holy rabbis decided that we will do teshuva (repentance) on their behalf.  We will cry their tears, we will utter their apologies, we will beg for their forgiveness.  I realized that the true mark of greatness is the ability to think beyond one’s self and to connect to the plight, circumstances and reality of the other.”

Rabbi Lau then turned to the young pilot and said: “You are truly privileged to be here and free.  But what about all your brothers and sisters who are not?  What about your fellow Jews who are suffering and enduring persecution?  What about those who are not able to celebrate Pesach either because they don’t have or they don’t know?  You may be here – but they are not.  You may be free – but they are not.  Let us be their mouthpiece.  Let us utter these words on their behalf.  Let us ask Hashem on this sacred night to bring all of those who are there – here.  Let us supplicate before God and beg Him to allow all of those who are slaves to taste the sweetness of freedom.”

Perhaps, this was the mistake of Nadav and Avihu.  If one looks closely at the verse – it says, V’Yikchu Bnei Aharon, Nadav V’Avihu Ish Machtaso, And Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu, each took his pan.  The Torah goes out of its way to state “Ish, each man” and “Machtaso, his pan” (possessive); identifying Nadav and Avihu as individuals.  The job of the Kohen is to represent the nation; the mandate of the Kohen is to be the embodiment of the collective.  Perhaps, the mistake of Nadav and Avihu was that they acted as individuals.  What they did was to satisfy their own needs and wants.  They served God the way they deemed fit without regard for the needs of the collective.  They were not acting as the emissaries of the Jewish people – they were each an Ish, an individual.  When we stop thinking about the collective and only think about ourselves –we end up making terrible mistakes.

This Shabbos we will IYH announce the arrival of month of Iyar.  We have begun the Sefira count towards the Yom Tov of Shavuos.  It is during this time of year that we focus on our personal growth the development.  We ready and prepare ourselves to reexperience the upcoming Sinaitic revelation.  Proper preparation cannot be limited to a focus on the self.  Holy preparation requires a recognition that we are we are part of a greater collective called, Am Yisroel.  On Pesach we became a nation and it is during these days that we must focus on how to be a nation.   Being part of Am Yisroel means feeling a sense of responsibility for the other.  It means recognizing that even if everything is ok in my life – there are others who are struggling and hurting and it is my responsibility to find some way to help.  It is easy to become spiritually self-centered, but we know that true growth and spiritual self-actualization comes about when you carry the entire nation of Israel in your heart and in your soul.

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Beginning & Ending: Reflections on the Haggadah

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At first glance, the Haggadah appears to be a collection of random verses, stories and statements. However, upon further reflection we come to understand the intentional yet, nuanced structure of this ancient script. The Talmud (Pesachim 115) explains Maschil B’Genus U’Misayeym B’Shevach, we begin with degradation and conclude with praise. We begin the Seder by discussing the “low points” or disparaging chapters of our national existence. The sages disagree as to which “low point” we should begin with. Shmuel explains that we begin with, “Avadim Hayinu, we were slaves.” We acknowledge that we did not begin as a nation of free men and women. We were slaves who served a human master. Rav opines, “Mitchila Ovdei Avoda Zara Hayu Avoseinu, in the beginning our forefathers were idolaters.” We were not always monotheists, we did not always pledge our allegiance to God, we served and paid homage to other gods. According to Shmuel, over the course of the Pesach Seder we work our way to celebrating our physical freedom. According Rav, the Seder is the opportunity to celebrate our newfound spiritual emancipation. Rav and Shmuel may disagree on the specific beginning and end points but do agree on the structure of the Seder night; Maschil B’Genus U’Misayeym B’Shevach, we begin with degradation and conclude with praise.

What is the meaning of this rabbinic framework? Why must we start with the negative or disparaging chapters of our national existence? Why not begin and end with our freedom, emancipation and positive identity as the nation of God?

The commentaries on the Haggadah share many approaches and answers. The Malbim (Rabbi Meir Leibush, 1809-1879) explains that the best way to make a dramatic point is through contrast. One appreciates light when one has been exposed to darkness. In order to fully appreciate the freedom granted to us on this sacred night, we must first acquaint ourselves with servitude. In order to feel physically free, we must spend time reminiscing, Avadaim Hayinu L’Pharoah B’Mitzrayim, we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt. Only after we engage in historical reflection and taste some of the bitter marror, can we truly thank God for redeeming us. In order to fully celebrate our spiritual emancipation, we must reflect what it was like to be a spiritual wanderer, not knowing what to believe or how to connect. Mitchila Ovdei Avoda Zara Hayu Avoseinu, in the beginning our forefathers were idolaters. Only when we remember our past can we truly appreciate our future.

The great Maggid of Kohznitz (Rav Yisroel Hopstein, 1737-1814) provides another beautiful insight. The Maggid explains that the greatest danger we face in life is believing we are beyond salvation. A person may think to himself, “I have done so many terrible things, I have tarnished my soul, I have sullied my reputation, I have failed to actualize my potential; what hope is there for me?” Maschil B’Genus, even if the beginning is degrading, even if the beginning is stunted and handicapped, Misayeym B’Shevach, I choose how the story ends, I can change, I can live better, do better and create a beautiful future. We were slaves, we were more animal than man, we were viewed by others and we viewed ourselves as cattel and property. And yet, look at us now; we are a strong and free people. We were idolaters, spiritually bankrupt and estranged from God and yet, we managed to find our way home. We lifted ourselves from serving the creations of our hands to serving the King of Kings. We cannot always rewrite the past but we can absolutely decide how to script our future.

Perhaps, there is a third lesson as well. Life requires patience. Events occur and we search for answers. Situations unfold and we try desperately to understand their deeper meaning. We want insight and clarity and we want it now. Clarity will come but it often requires the passage of time. Maschil B’Genus U’Misayeym B’Shevach, we begin with degradation and conclude with praise, the difficult life situations will have a positive resolution (not necessarily the resolution we desire, but positive nevertheless). However, just as it takes time to reach the Shevach (praise) contained within the Haggadah; it takes time to see our personal praise and resolution as well. It will come, but we must be patient.

Maschil B’Genus U’Misayeym B’Shevach, we begin with degradation and conclude with praise; the rabbis were not simply giving us a format for the Haggadah, they were providing us with a format for life. To actualize our freedom and maximize our ability to shape our personal and national destiny we must internalize the messages of the Haggadah. We must remember that while building our future; we must reflect on the events and messages of our past. No matter how far we have wandered, no matter how estranged we have become from God, ourselves and one another, no person is beyond salvation. We must bear in mind that resolution, understanding and happiness will come to those who are patient enough to wait.

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